Himalayan Heaven

 

Himalayan Heaven

Words: Liz Light

After muddle, delayed flights and Terry, my brother, spending many hours sitting on a bag in a bus aisle we arrived in Gangtok, Sikkim, in the middle of a cold winter night.

We didn’t intend to come here. Darjeeling was our destination but a general strike – and no public transport – forced us to change plans at the last moment and head for Sikkim.

Morning light shows layers of hills in every direction but a bank of clouds are where the Himalayas should be. Gangtok, the capital of this tiny Indian state, straddles a ridge and clambers down from it. It could be the inspiration for snakes and ladders with stepped walking paths connecting roads that circle and climb at gentler angles. There are, it seems, no flat areas.
 
We are a small family team of three; me, my brother and my 20-year-old niece, Robbie. We pick our way down steps to the Main Bazaar, a pedestrian-only road lined with shops and a central area with gardens, seats and gentle music coming from hidden speakers. People are here to saunter, to see and be seen, enjoy winter sun, to wear their best clothes and do a little shopping.
 
Best clothes come with all sorts of ethnic influences. Tibetan women (Tibet is only 25 mountainous kilometres away) wear long tight-fitting dresses that tie in a box pleat at the back and Indian women wear salwar kamis. There is a scattering of people in jeans, monks with plum-coloured robes and orange puffer-jackets and a few smiling sadus with dreadlocks.
 
Sikkim, with only 100,000 people, is the least populated state in India. Its people are from three groups; Buddhists, who came from Tibet, Nepalis from the west, and more recently, Indian traders and their families who moved up from the plains far below. This diversity results in terrific shopping. There is silver, lapis, and turquoise jewellery with Tibetan origins, luscious fabrics from India, a plethora of local brass and beautiful Buddhist art.
 
Terry is soon bored with shopping so Robbie and I make a pact to return later. We walk up the hill to the park from which we intend to take the Damovar Ropeway, a vintage gondola that swoops up and down the mountain between the ridge-top park to the valley far below, stopping along the way, saving valley-dwellers the long walk up to the bazaar.